All Those Things I Never Wanted
by Dixiegirl256
Summary: "Seems like before I even realized how much I liked having those things, I lost them… all those things I never wanted... And as time went on, it looked like I would never get them back." Post Marionette / 6B AU. Peter and Olivia, of course. For Fringe 2nd Anniversary - gone, but not ever forgotten.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Olivia hadn't planned on a trip to Reiden Lake today. She hadn't planned on getting Peter Bishop out of jail today either, but she was on her way. She had a travel mug full of coffee and directions to the Featherstonhaugh County Jail in her GPS, along with strong words for Peter, who she hadn't seen in six weeks, and Broyles, who woke her up at 4 am for this fool's errand. If not for Broyles' specific instructions, she'd be inclined to leave Peter to the local authorities. At least it was starting to look like a nice spring day: bright and clear, big, white, fluffy clouds instead of the gray gloom that had been hanging over them in Boston.

Nice days had been hard to come by this year. The cold lingered, and the number of drizzly, overcast days seemed a reflection of Olivia's mood – dark, damp, and ceaselessly unchanging, one gray day morphing into the next. Spring had been a long time coming.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

She'd felt cold for so long, as if Peter's words in the hospital coffee shop had frozen in her chest.

_And so I came back for you...__ for us_

_I thought she was you, Olivia_

_Olivia, I'm sorry…_

She heard the words over and over as she tried to sleep. If she closed her eyes, memories of the Other Side flooded back… the cell, the drugs, Brandon Fayette and his goddamn Sharpie. When she opened her eyes, she saw _them_. Did they do all the things she'd thought about, hoped that she and Peter would do someday? _Yes _

She could see Peter and the Other One… cuddled together watching Peter's old movies. _Casablanca in the dvd player. In the bedroom._ Did he have a 'favorite' side of her bed now? Did She make room for his clothes in her closet? _There was an empty drawer in her dresser – at least he'd taken his toothbrush with him before she came home._

She discovered the beer that only Peter liked in her refrigerator. _And poured every bottle of the $18 six pack down the drain._ She spent an hour looking for her favorite corkscrew. _And the rest of the night pulling everything out of the kitchen drawers and cabinets and putting them back where they belonged. _ Every discovery, every trace of someone else living her life, seemed to freeze her heart a little more.

In the rare moments when she could step back from her pain, she knew Peter was hurting, too. He wasn't sleeping any more than she was, and the dark circles under his eyes mirrored hers. At first, she assumed he missed the better version of herself, the one with whom he'd formed the relationship he wanted (_she wanted)_. Simon's note hadn't helped.

_He still thinks about her…_

No matter how many times Peter denied it and apologized to her, no matter how many times Astrid reassured her that Peter's feelings were intended for her, no matter how many mournful looks Walter sent her way… it never eradicated that icy feeling that had invaded her, that reminded her she was always going to be alone. She was better off alone; solitude was an ache she was accustomed to - it was almost a comfort to her now. Fighting to be alone was a battle she could win; she could show him she was past it all. She was a professional, and his guilt wasn't her problem anymore.

He kept trying to break down her defenses, just by being Peter. He didn't push her (much). He kept bringing her coffee and digging up a friendly smile, at least as friendly as he could muster in the face of her rebuttals at even a hint of friendship. She felt a little guilty after consistently ignoring his overtures… until the next time she found a report that the Other One had written and signed OLIVIA DUNHAM _in my handwriting_, or she found another blue gray t-shirt or white bra kicked under a piece of furniture or folded into a set of sheets. Each discovery fueled the voice that told her any chance they'd ever had of being together had been ripped away from them.

Despite her efforts to keep him at arm's length, Peter was wearing her down, bit by bit. She brought home the book he'd ordered for her and read it, even though just holding it hurt as she imaged Peter and the Other One talking about it in bed. There was the day in the Bishops' foyer that Peter, holding a cup of coffee, had finally given in to his own frustrations and snapped at her; part of her was triumphant _(I won, now will you leave me alone?)_ but a small part of her wanted to admit he was right.

And then there was the Merchant case…

Their kiss – their almost-kiss, she mentally corrected herself – felt right, until her eyelids fluttered and she saw the faint glimmer outlining Peter's face as he leaned towards her. Never mind how soft his lips felt against hers, how his breath warmed her cheek; the glimmer was a warning too strong to ignore.

He hadn't given up on her then, either. To his credit, he'd been patient, more patient than she could've been – more patient than the part of her that wanted nothing more than to wrap herself around him, and let him fold her to him, to snuggle in his dark wool coat with her face buried in his shoulder and let his warmth thaw her icy core. But the other part of her, the part that always won, held her back.

This was the voice that spoke to her the night after they'd solved the Merchant case, as she sat in her apartment, drinking alone. She wanted to tell Peter that she'd listened, that she'd heard him talk to Mrs. Merchant about a life well-lived, well loved, and that she wanted that for them, too. The insidious little voice held her frozen in the apartment… _Are you sure YOU'RE the one he wants those things with? How can you trust him? _

No matter how many times she overrode those objections, there was one question that she could never answer, and it held her back each time she wanted to reach out to him, to respond to his gentle smile, the little kindnesses he continued despite her efforts to push him away. She heard it as she sat, drinking, after the Merchant case, and she heard it every night as she lay in bed and tried to sleep… _How will you bear it when he leaves you again? _

The next morning, he smiled at her hopefully when he brought her a cup of coffee (black, 1 sugar) and seemed as if he wanted to linger in her office, but when she thanked him and returned her attention to the folders on her desk, he turned back to the lab. When she snuck a glance at him as he walked away, his shoulders were slumped. Later that morning, she could hear him snapping at Walter; Astrid's voice rose above the two men's as she intervened to make peace. Olivia stayed in her office, sure it had nothing to do with her.

He persisted; coffee in the mornings, a sandwich or salad for lunch whenever they were in the office together. She was surprised that he seemed to remember her favorites – no more coffee with cream or salads with ranch dressing. She continued to thank him politely and managed to avoid situations that required much more interaction than that.

After a few days, though, he stopped bringing her coffee every morning. Sporadically, he was even absent from the lab when she arrived. She quizzed Astrid, who only shrugged and shook her head.

"Ask him," was the only response she could get from Astrid, along with a sad smile.

After the third week, Walter was more forthcoming. "Olivia, Peter's going out at night and I'm assuming that since he's coming back quite inebriated and in the wee hours of the morning, he's not with you."

Olivia took a deep breath and reminded herself of Walter's inability to consider tact when speaking, or even privacy. "No, Walter," she replied, her fists curled under the desk, "He's not with me."

"Well, he should be," Walter snapped. "Who knows what could happen to him?"


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

They were in Olivia's office, theorizing on their latest case. The easy, back-and-forth brainstorming that developed in the early days of their partnership was gone; now Peter would offer a suggestion and Olivia would find fault with it.

Finally, he tossed the folders he'd been thumbing through on her desk and stood up. "Are we gonna do this again?"

Olivia looked up at him, careful to keep her facial expression neutral.

"Because if we are, I'd rather go listen to Walter. It's not any more pleasant, but he's less predictable."

She looked down at the folders on her desk until she heard him walk away. A few minutes later, she heard raised voices, Walter's and Peter's, a slamming door… and then silence.

That was the first night she had to take him home.

ooo

It was almost 2:30 when her phone rang. She was still up, of course; her chronic insomnia hadn't improved with the new sheets and comforter. She was sitting at her kitchen table, case files spread out in front of her and her second shot of whisky close at hand; she'd been nursing it for a while.

That her phone was ringing at 2:30 in the morning was no surprise; she'd been summoned enough by Broyles at any hour not to be shocked at pre-dawn calls. What did surprise her was that the call wasn't from Broyles; it was from the bartender at what used to be their favorite bar, the Milky Way.

She hadn't been there since she'd been back, and the thought flitted across her mind even as she reached for her phone… _Did he take HER there?_

"Hello?" She could hear the noise of the bar in the background, somewhat muted due to the hour.

"Olivia? Hey, it's Jake, down at the Milky Way." There was a pause, and the noise level grew fainter. She assumed he'd stepped away from the bar.

"Listen… I'm really sorry to bother you, especially since you haven't been feeling well."

_So that's how Peter explained her absence…_

"But I didn't know who else to call. Bishop's here, and – "

Olivia sighed. "He's either been in a fight, or he's too drunk to drive, right?"

"Nah…" Jake replied. "He's too drunk to stand up." Another pause. "I'm really sorry –"

She was already picking up her keys and gun. "I'll be right there, Jake. And… I'm really glad you called me."

ooo

The bar was just around the corner from her apartment, and at almost 3 am in the middle of the week, it wasn't hard to find a parking spot close to the door. She stood in the doorway and blinked a few times, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light.

Jake was behind the bar, putting away mugs and stacking shot glasses. The handful of people left in the place were hunched over their 'last call' drinks, nursing their final brews until Jake threw them out. She walked up to the bar, still scanning the room.

Jake didn't say anything; he just nodded towards the back booth, tucked into a corner next to the jukebox. Nobody ever sat there. If the band was playing, the jukebox blocked the view; if the jukebox was playing, it was too loud to talk.

She straightened her shoulders and walked towards the back of the room with a determination she didn't feel. Peter always matched her shot for shot; had he put Jake up to this in an effort to get to her?

She found eight empty shot glasses lined up neatly in front of Peter. He was still awake, but just barely. His eyelids were heavy and his gaze unfocused. He was leaning back in the corner, his legs stretched out in front of him.

She stood in front of the booth for a minute, waiting for his usual smart-ass remark. After a minute drug by with no acknowledgement, she kicked his feet.

"Last call, Bishop. Time to go,"

At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head and blinked owlishly. "'Livia," he slurred, "Wharrya doin here?"

"Jake called me."

"Dammit, I tole him not to do that."

"Peter, it's ok. I don't mind taking you home."

He slid to the edge of the booth and lurched to his feet, leaning heavily on the jukebox. "S'ok, I can take m'self home."

Jake appeared on the other side of the jukebox. Between the two of them, they kept Peter upright and headed towards the door.

"I tole you not to call Livia. Bastard…"

They manhandled him into Olivia's SUV. She was grateful again for the parking spot near the door as she thanked Jake. She didn't look at Peter again until she was settled in the driver's seat. He was slumped against the passenger door, eyes closed and mumbling incoherently.

"Tole him not to call. I can walk from here."

"Peter, it's ok. That's what friends are for." She tried to sound lighthearted and nonchalant.

He mumbled something else as she pulled into the street and headed towards the Bishops' house on Yukon Street.

"What? I'm sorry, Peter, I couldn't understand you."

"Don't have any friends…"

They rode in silence the rest of the way.

ooo

She worked at the Bureau office downtown the next morning. _Because I still need to remind them I work here_, she thought, _not because I'm avoiding… anyone. _She needed files from the lab that afternoon. _Because they're pertinent to what I'm working on, not because I need to check on anyone._

Astrid and Walter were having a late lunch, but Peter was nowhere in sight. The guts of an ancient oscillator he'd been taking apart were scattered across a nearby lab table. Olivia glanced at the tiny bits of metal. `

Astrid spoke first. "He was working on it earlier, but said something about not having the right tools."

Walter snorted. "I hardly think that was the case. He was in no shape to working with delicate instruments." He glared at Olivia. "I know you brought him home last night. I saw your vehicle. And the state he was in."

Olivia spread her hands on the bench and sighed. "Walter, he did that on his own. I just made sure he got home alright. I can't tell him what to do on his own time."

She walked away before Walter could reply, but she could still hear him muttering to Astrid. "If Olivia WOULD tell him what to do, I daresay there'd be a lot less drinking." Even over Astrid's attempt to shush him, she heard his parting comments loud and clear. "At least when SHE was here, I knew where he was at night."

ooo

Ironically enough, now Olivia knew where Peter was at night – at least for three nights out of the next five. The first couple of nights were like the first – Peter was conscious, but just barely. Jake helped her walk/drag him to her SUV and he was able to stumble to his front door once she drove him there.

The third time, he'd passed out in the back booth. Oblivious to Olivia's gentle shaking, and her less gentle kicking at the bottom of his boots, Jake finally leaned over the table to drag him out. The sudden movement startled Peter, and he came to swinging. For a drunk coming out of a deep sleep, he was surprisingly agile, and he had Jake pinned against the jukebox before Olivia could pull him off. He was disoriented and groggy, but they managed to get him out of the bar and into Olivia's SUV, in its now-usual spot in front of the door, before he lashed out again.

"Why d'ya keep doing this?" He mumbled roughly.

"You're still my partner…" she said quietly.

He mulled that over until they pulled up in front of the Bishop house. As he leaned out of the passenger side, he turned back to her. "Still your partner, huh?"

Olivia wouldn't look at him. "Can't let you get arrested for drunk and disorderly. The Bureau would frown upon it."

His only response was the click of the passenger side door as he stumbled into the house.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Peter opened the heavy door to the Boston dive that had become his most recent 'home away from home'. That it was the type of bar where people didn't talk much and that it was far removed from 'their' usual haunts were the main attractions; that it was within easy walking distance of the house on Yukon Street and had a jukebox full of old Blue Note 45's sealed the deal for him. And after the incident with Jake at the Milky Way, it was time for him to find a new place to drink, anyway.

His usual booth in the back was unoccupied and he headed towards it, stopping at the bar on the way to grab a couple of shots and a draft. He downed the first one as soon as he eased into the booth, enjoying the bite of the liquor that spread into a dark warmth. The beer was cold, and cheap, but he missed the distraction that a bottle provided: tearing off the label, rolling the icy bottle between his hands. He fell back to an old nervous habit instead, flipping a coin, his lucky silver half dollar, across the back of his hand, as he sat and waited for the burn to subside before gulping the next shot.

He needed the distraction, at least until the liquor slowed his mind a bit. Otherwise, his thoughts raced, bouncing between the shambles he called his life these days and what he expected it to be in the future. Tonight, he imagined himself in a pinball machine… Walter and Walternate as flippers on either side, savagely tossing him between them; little traps waiting for him, Big Eddie, Michael, every mark he'd ever conned, ready to suck him in if he drifted too close; bumpers sending him spiraling to another job, another city, another country… another universe. The biggest trap of all might also be his biggest payoff… Olivia. Both of them – he could visualize it - blonde Olivia pushing him away, redheaded Olivia luring him in, only to send him down the drain. Then there was the drain itself, the game-ender…. the wave synch device. And just like a pinball machine, he knew no matter how long or how hard he fought, it was his ultimate destination. Game over.

He looked up and nodded to the bartender, holding up two fingers and the beer mug. He needed to drink faster to get those images out of his mind tonight.

ooo

Astrid met him at the door with a cup of coffee as he dragged himself in the next morning. "Olivia wants to see you," she said in a low voice.

"When?" he asked, grateful for the caffeine.

"Two hours ago," Astrid said. "I tried to call you…"

Peter pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. Dead. "Musta forgot to put it on the charger last night," he mumbled.

"Oh, Peter…" Astrid shook her head. Working here was usually like a roller coaster, but lately, it reminded her more of the proverbial train wreck in slow motion.

Peter refilled his coffee cup, and thought about bringing a fresh cup for Olivia. _Why bother… _

"You wanted to see me?" He walked into her office, feeling every bit like the recalcitrant child being called on the carpet.

Without even looking up, she picked up a stack of folders and held them in his direction. "I need you to review these and evaluate them for similarities to any cases we've worked before. Broyles wants a report this afternoon, so you don't have much time."

As he reached for the stack one-handed, the top folder opened and papers fluttered across her desk. He turned to set his stack on her side chair; when he turned back to her desk, Olivia was staring openly at him.

He reached to gather the papers strewn across her desk and she grabbed his wrist.

"Peter, you're drinking too much."

"Says the woman whose best friends are named Jack, Jim, and Johnny." He chuckled bitterly.

She hadn't let go of his wrist, but she loosened her grasp. "Look how you're shaking."

He nodded towards his mug, sitting on the corner of her desk. "It's the coffee."

"Bullshit. When was the last time you came in here without a hangover?"

He flipped his hand in her grasp and circled her wrist with his fingers. "And when was the last time you had a decent meal? Even a sandwich?"

Peter's eyes were sunken and red-rimmed; his complexion was sallow, and he did indeed have a slight tremor from too little sleep and too much alcohol. The violet circles around Olivia's eyes rivaled his own; it was clear she wasn't sleeping either. Her clothes hung on her frame, even though she'd ordered new suits a size smaller – twice.

They glared at each other, neither offering a rebuttal, knowing it would be useless to dispute the other's accusations. They knew each other's tells, knew how to spot the signs of distress that might not be obvious to anyone else. Olivia's lower lip was reddened and slightly swollen from biting it when she was unsure or nervous. Peter's normally crisp button-down was creased and wrinkled; he just looked – rumpled.

She clasped his hand. Besides the tremor, she could feel his pulse throbbing under her fingertips. "Why are you doing this to yourself, Peter? You think we don't notice?"

He refused to look at her, but his fingers curled around hers and squeezed gently.

"Walter's worried about you. He says you hardly ever come home sober. He cares about you, regardless of what you think."

"I don't give a damn about Walter. What do you think?"

She tried to ignore the warmth of his hand surrounding hers and the comforting feel of his touch. "I care… of course, I care," she stuttered. "I care about all the people I work with."

She could feel his stare. When she finally looked up, the hurt in his eyes almost broke her, but then she heard the little voice in the back of her mind…._He'll just run again, and where will that leave you?_ She willed her face to neutrality and looked back down at her desk.

He pulled away from her and picked up the files. He headed for the door; without turning back to look at her, he said "Anything else… boss?" The sarcasm hung in the air long after he left her office.

It was the last time Olivia saw Peter in Boston.


End file.
